Tim and Jon: Origins
by Vprisoner
Summary: An original story, but it has many FF injokes, among other things. Witness the powerful tale of three young heroes as they battle for the fate of all existance. Rated M for harsh language on the part of the antagonists exclusively, as well as violence.


DISCLAIMER: All characters in this series I own, now and forever. Please contact me if you want to use them at any point in the distant future. Movie deals are cool, but only if I have final say. Don't need Hollywood screwing up anymore good stories. ) I am not responsible for any tears--or cracked ribs for that matter--that this story may entail. Now enjoy.

_What is a story?_

_A story has many faces, for it is told many times._

_What can be said?_

_There are countless stories, each bearing countless faces._

_Shall we tell the one story, and dismiss the many?_

_Or shall we contemplate the many, and forget the one that gave them form?_

_Let this be said._

_That we may tell the one, and acknowledge the many._

_Therefore, let the story be told._

_The one story that gives all others form._

Man is sinful. By his own dark nature, he condemns himself and others to pain and misery. And yet, there are those among him that would renounce their evil dispositions and seek true justice. Sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. Such is this ongoing battle within the heart, this search for a means to destroy the wickedness that has plagued mankind from within since the dawn of time. Those who fight against the darkness struggle against their own evil, and with the might of others they struggle against the evil of others.

But what of those who prevail, who have contained the evil within and have brought to bear all of their strength against the evil without? Without, within, evil strikes from all sides.

From within, mankind's folly will alter the fate of all. But man is not alone in this fight…

_TIM AND JON_

The Misadventures and Utter Bullcrap That is Their Everyday Lives

_ORIGINS_

CHAPTER 1: What Man Has Awoken: The Looming Disaster

_5:43 A.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

At first, there were stars. An endless field of stars, so peaceful, so gentle. Totally undisturbed.

Then it came.

It was a space station, a dark grey, spherical monolith with long, thin, metallic spires that pointed straight down, drooping from the bottom of the construct. Beside it, several large, spearhead battleships could be seen, paling in comparison to the size of the hulking sphere.

Not very impressive to a man like Scott, who had often seen such colossal space stations during his 2 years as a general in the Majesty army. Scott merely stood by the large window in the hallway near his office, smiling at the wondrous beauty of space that gazed back at him. He hoped that here he would have some privacy.

"General!"

Scott lowered his head and sighed. He had hoped for too much.

Though he groaned within, his private brooding interrupted yet again by his crew, he still had the appearance of a general to maintain. He stood up straight and greeted the privates who were now rushing towards him through the slender metallic halls with dignified warmth. "At ease, privates," he replied calmly with a nod.

The two immediately stopped, and then stooped over to catch their breath. Private Dick was the first to regain his wind, and therefore the first to speak.

"We are approaching planetary airspace, sir."

Of course, if Scott's office were more toward the front of the ship, it would be wholly unnecessary to tell him this. But it was instead situated toward the back, at Scott's personal request, so he could get as much solitude as he could. Obviously that plan was a bust.

Private Johnson, who had now also recovered from their sprint, turned in anger toward his comrade. "Shut up, Dick! I was gonna tell him that!"

Dick turned back, equally angered. "The hell you were! You were probably gonna say something like, 'Are we there yet?'"

Scott had never been very tolerant with profanity among his men. Exasperated with their language, but mostly their bickering, he stepped forward.

"_Are_ we there yet?"

The two soldiers, their argument instantly halted, stood upright and spoke in unison.

"Not, yet, SIR!"

Even his general's appearance couldn't keep a large bead of annoyed sweat from trickling down his brow. After a few seconds, however, he contemplated the fact that they had actually managed to _find_ a planet out here in the middle of nowhere, just as "he" said they would. "So, the coordinates given _were_ correct. Interesting," he said, stroking his smooth, shaven chin.

Private Dick then cautiously stepped forward. "If we may ask, sir…"

"You may."

"Who was that man you were speaking with, anyway?"

General Scott was about to respond, to tell the curious soldier that he honestly had no idea who the man was, and why, for that matter, he spoke to him. But instead, he found himself saying quite unexpectedly, "The Director and High Council trusted him. That's all we need to know." Scott truly meant to say the former, but in a split-second it was as if he had changed his mind involuntarily. He then turned his back to the privates, gazing out the window, and continued.

"The Majesty Republic has stood unwavering and undefeated for thousands of years. It's all thanks to our leaders and the people who elected them. We as a people have never made a wrong decision yet…"

As he continued to wax poetry about how boss the Majesty was, Dick and Johnson turned their heads to confer amongst themselves. "There he goes again," Dick said as he shook his head in amusement.

"Yeah," Johnson agreed. "Still, General Scott's waxings are better than Colonel 'Spartan's' rants."

"_Tell_ me about it," Dick replied with an aura of disgust at the mention of the Colonel.

"Well, you see, the Colonel's this uptight asshole who wails on anything that moves, and…"

Dick stopped him in mid-sentence, clearly annoyed. "I didn't mean for REAL!"

There was a brief silence, then Johnson said casually, "Dude, I'm starving." Dick sweated in irritation.

"Are you two quite finished?" General Scott suddenly remarked, without even bothering to turn.

The two privates nearly jumped out of their uniforms in surprise, but quickly regained their soldierly composure and answered. "SIR, yes SIR!"

General Scott gave a casual nod. "Good. Dismissed."

"SIR!" The two replied, and with an abrupt about-face, they walked through the hallway and out of sight. Scott sighed with relief, then decided to summon the Colonel to prepare the troops.

Dealing with the Colonel was one of the worst parts of his duties. How a man like Phillip Cambron could make Colonel with such a large record of excessive force and brutality was beyond Scott. And unfortunately, that was just icing on the cake of pain and suffering that was Colonel Phillip, nicknamed "Spartan" behind his back.

"Colonel Phillip!" General Scott shouted into the microphone Majesty insignia on his emerald green uniform. What came strolling down the hallway was one of the most unpleasant sights that Scott was forced to recognize on a daily basis. Phillip was somehow very well connected within the Majesty, and General Scott was never able to dismiss him. Scott then restrained himself, and turned to face the Colonel. Colonel Phillip was slightly taller than Scott himself, and sported a burr cut that looked like a giant brown four-leaf clover right on top of his otherwise bald head. Unlike Scott's uniform, the Colonel's was dark grey and black. Another interesting, yet disturbing feature was that his right pupil was sapphire blue, but the left shone a menacing crimson. A muscular man, with a firm, stern build and a constant look of hardened anger, Phillip was a holy terror to behold.

"SIR!" Phillip responded in a baritone voice.

"Prepare the station for planetary orbit and assemble all recon forces! Be prepared to land your troops by 1200 hours!"

Now the Colonel grinned nastily. "About damn time! We'll teach those alien scum down there to plot against the Majesty!"

General Scott, however, was clearly unamused, and rewarded Phillip's ill-willed smile with a look of cold hostility. "No excessive force down there, Colonel, UNDERSTAND? Detain and secure ONLY. Heaven knows we don't need another mark for civilian brutality on your already badly-scarred record. These are PEOPLE, remember."

Phillip shrugged off the warning. "Just watch me! My boys are all riled up and ready to go! We'll take care of everything." Phillip then began to walk off. Wanting to let his words sink in, Scott stopped him halfway and sharply remarked, "I'm warning you, Colonel!"

The Colonel seethed silently, infuriated by General Scott's contstant interference in his methods of waging war. Who cared anyway _how_ he dealt with enemy soldiers and civilians, as long as they were taken care of? However, what Colonel Phillip thought and what he said were two different things altogether.

"…...SIR!"

Turning back, he started walking off in a silent rage, cursing heavily to himself as he went. Scott sighed, this time, a sigh of pain and sadness. He then turned back to examine the stars, as if searching for what he was looking for…

…the reason why the heck he was in the middle of all this crap.

_And slowly I began to wonder…_

_Why am I doing this?_

_This makes no sense…_

_Why am I sent to fight a people I know nothing about?_

_For humanity? For country?_

_The answers can only come with time…_

-Entry in Scott's Journal …because he's not a woman, so it's a freaking journal! DEAL WITH IT!

_8:26 A.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

It was just a dream.

The young Comixian slowly got out of bed, eyelids on the verge of closing completely as he stood up and stretched. Stretched to greet the day. The peaceful day he had grown to expect every time he woke.

His room was a comfortable, spacious area, with a smooth cedar bookshelf with many books (mostly comics) lining it, a firm hardwood floor, and a few papers and toys that he had never bothered to clean up strewn about. Why a 17-year old would have toys lying around was anyone's guess. But Tim was always considered by the villagers to be a little... off.

Even though Tim was exactly seven feet tall, he was still considered small for his race. Like all Comixians, he had virtually no build at all. His shoulderless body, arms, and legs were all only a centimeter thick, and were all pitch black. His hands, feet, and head were perfect spheres of peach-colored flesh, with no digits whatsoever. While his hands and feet were only the size of oranges, his head was the size of a basketball, with almost half of the top of it layered with a burr cut of shaven brown hair that never grew nor fell out. Two large white cats eyes with blue pupils, a hook nose, and a small grin completed his features. In short, Tim very much resembled a stick figure a five-year old would draw and hang on a refrigerator.

He gave a huge yawn, and then smiled sleepily. "Ahh, another great day," Tim sighed happily. Unfortunately, he just wasn't kidding himself this morning. He immediately drooped over with a groan, a bead of sweat on his face.

His younger brother, Jon, had been away for at least a year now. Tim worried that he was actually starting to _miss_ him.

At first, things were great without Jon. He could run around the house and do whatever the crap he wanted. But, as the days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, he had slowly begun to miss his younger brother's incessant criticisms, his constant frustration with his juvenile elder. Because, as any teenager knows, doing something stupid just doesn't stay fun without someone being ticked off by it. And Tim had practically wrote the book on stupid. It, in fact, sat in his bookshelf, beside an assortment of his favorite manga.

Tim, depressed at first, immediately jerked his head back up and suppressed his frown. He was definitely _not_ going to go there. If he started thinking about it now, his whole day would be screwed. Just then, Tim heard the doorbell sound, the pleasant clinking of a wind chime wafting through the house. "Oh come on, at _this_ hour?" Tim said with a slight frown.

The Comixian charged out of his room, grabbed a piece of leftover bread and an apple from last night off the kitchen table, shoved them both in his mouth and swallowed in one fluid motion, then rushed to the front door to open it. A little Comixian boy with teal hair and eyes to match greeted him outside.

"Mr. Tim! There's a letter here for you," he said with a smile, as he reached into his knapsack and drew out a large white envelope. Tim shrugged, his lips puckered slightly, and received the letter. As the boy ran off, Tim ripped open the envelope and examined the letter within.

His pupils then shrank dramatically, the Comixian equivalent of eyes widening. Shaking slightly, he immediately began ripping open the envelope. Holding the weathered, yet still legible paper in his hand as if it was descended from heaven, he began reading, a huge grin slowly creeping over his face.

_Dear Tim or whatever,_

_Yes, I'm back. It's been an eventful journey around the world, but it's finally over. Happy? More to the point, I'm waiting for you on the northern cape of the Ring Cliffs outside the village, because I've been embarrassed enough being seen with you in public. Anyway, meet me there by noon sharp. Or don't. Either way, I don't really care._

_Love _(X-ed out)_ Sincerely _(X-ed out) _Here's Hoping _(X-ed out)_ Signed _(X-ed out)

_...Um..._

_Jon_

NOTE: If you have had any suspicions that Tim is a total idiot, then it's about to be clear.

"YYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Back flips, cartwheels, skipping, nothing was off limits as Tim began racing through the lush grounds of Kain Village in a joyous frenzy. Some Comixians shook their heads. Most of the children laughed, and even a few of the adults snickered.

"Jon is coming BAAAACK! Jon is coming BAAAACK!"

He began chanting this over and over in a singsong tone, his frivolity only halted when he ran up the wall of a sienna-colored building and bumped his head on the ceiling of the village, dropping to the earth with a thud. There was even a cracked indentation where his head had collided. At first glance he looked unconscious. But within exactly a half-second, he was up and running around, chanting all over again as if it never happened.

_10:14 A.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

Tim was still running around like a nutcase, but the Comixians of Kain Village were already ignoring him and returning to their lives, this sort of thing being almost normal after 17 years of raising Tim.

Kain, like all Comixian villages, was built deep underground, out of the Comixian people's desire not to harm the beauty of nature above. This would of course explain how one could bump one's head on a giant ceiling outside. Rather than having crude constructs made from caverns and such, as would be expected, the Comixians had actually constructed large and elaborate buildings, beautiful works of art that dotted the entire area. By the power of Comixian magic, grass and other vegetation, as well as sufficient light, was present and could grow within the underground structure.

Tim and Jon, since as long as they could remember, had been raised collectively by the elders of Kain Village, being inexplicably parentless. When they asked about their birth, the elders would usually pretend they hadn't heard, or shout things to distant others, such as, "What's that? You need help with the.. the thing? Oh yes, coming!" Perhaps it was this that caused Jon to decide to go off and see the world for a year. Or maybe it was living with Tim. Either way, it was a close contest.

No, it was probably Tim.

"Jon is coming BAAAACK! Jon is coming BAAAACK! Jon is coming BAAAAnnnnnnnnnnnnnd I'm bored now." Tim immediately stopped, resuming his calm and absent-minded demeanor instantaneously. After several seconds of just standing there staring out into space like a retard, a buzzer seemed to go off in his head, and he finally remembered where he was supposed to meet Jon...

"The northern cape, huh? Dunno if I've been that far out before..."

Tim stroked the bottom of his head thoughtfully (Comixians are chinless) with a slight frown. Now that he started thinking about it, he really had no idea to get to the northern cape. The first thing that he concluded about it was that it north. Duh. And...

Tim stood there staring into space for a few more minutes. "...I got nothing."

Tim let out a huge sigh of disappointment. A moment later, he was making his way to the estate of the Sage of Kain, the Comixian version of a mayor, his arms swaying with the magic-induced breeze that wafted through the caverns.

He gazed with a smile at the Comixian men and women carrying on their daily rituals, tending their gardens, repairing the chipped stone on the walls of their dwellings. They all looked exactly like him, except that their hair sported different colors, ranging from green to pink to blue, and that their eyes matched their hair. Tim's cobalt blue eyes obviously did not match his brown hair. And of course, the hair of the women and girls were much longer. Such was the world Tim had lived in for seventeen straight years of his life, and the sight of adult and child in perfect unity never failed to cheer him. Most cheerful of all were the children at play as he walked by.

The seven children, mail boy excluded, that comprised the entirety of the village's younger population.

Tim's pleased smile turned into a frown of worry. He had heard the rumors, of course. During the more recent occasions that he had tried to convince the bartender to crack open a case of the forbidden "Mountain Dew", he had barely heard the whispered discussions.

The discussion of Comixian birthings.

And how they seemed to be stopping throughout the entire planet.

Comixians had far greater longetivity than most other creatures, of course, and therefore birthings were not _too_ common. But there had been only thirty birthings, on the entire planet, in the last 100 years. Such thoughts did not concern Tim at the moment, for he had slipped into a trance of delight the minute his thoughts passed by the forbidden "Mountain Dew".

Its rich, yellow-green color... its alluring, sugary odor, its rumored ability to induce diabetic comas with a mere sip...

Unfortunately, Tim did not see the large, carved stone wall of the Sage's house as he walked slowly towards it in a daze.

BAM.

Tim lay on the grass, rubbing his slightly sore head. A few of the nearby Comixians laughed, though not cruelly. "Well, what counts is that I'm here," he said to himself. He then proceeded to walk around to the two hulkng, elaborate front doors, and pushed them open with superhuman ease. No one knew exactly how such a scrawny creature as Tim could be endowed with such amazing strength. But to Tim it came naturally, and it never amazed him. But maybe, that was the reason he felt... isolated.

Both Tim and his brother Jon, inexplicably, could not use magic.

_12:30 P.M. April 5, 19,990 A.D._

"Lats vuetuh! AERO!"

Silence.

For the fifteenth time that day, a torrent of wind had refused to form in the hands of young 7-year old Tim, who was becoming increasingly upset and frustrated. His instructor, a blonde Comixian with a concerned face walked over to Tim, telling the rest of the class to continue their spells.

"Jon! Come over here, please!"

Even at such a young age, Jon's cold demeanor reflected a tremendous intellect. He began walking slowly towards them, shaking his head in disgust. Tim had probably done something wrong... again. Why did he have to have such a cheese head for a brother?

"Yes sir?"

The instructor sighed heavily and began speaking in a confused manner, as if he could not understand what the problem was. The other students began watching over their shoulders as they kept practicing, murmuring amongst themselves.

"Is that..?

"Yes. That's the fourth time this week."

"They've just started. Give them time."

"Pathetic. They haven't been able to cast _anything_ since they got here."

"Probably going to expel them."

"Probably going to boot them out of the village."

Jon could hear them, growing silently more upset by the minute. "Now boys," the professor began, eyeing Tim and Jon with the utmost concern. "It's been a week, I you have not been able to produce a single spell--not even a tremor or spark!"

"Does this mean we're no good?" Tim asked frustratingly. "If it is, then that's not true, Professor Miyu! We try our hardest all the time! Me _and_ Jon!"

"I know you're trying, Tim. That's the problem," Professor Miyu said, his words weighing heavily on the three of them. "You should be able to! You have the focus, you have the determination, you have been able to recite every spell perfectly! Jon has been able to effortlessly make perfect scores on all his written tests--you aren't that far off either. By all rights you should be able to use magic with the utmost skill! But... you just can't."

These words hit hardest of all, almost bringing little Tim to tears. Jon had already taught himself to control his emotions, yet even so, it was obvious that this revelation stung him also. His guilt and frustration with his own abilities, however, outweighed his anger. With Tim it was quite the opposite.

"All Comixians can use magic. Even the late bloomers can eventually learn how to wield it at this age. But you have not been able to do it at all. This is very troubling," Miyu said thoughtfully.

Jon could have sworn the children were still talking behind their backs. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, and saw that they had returned to their practice.

But he could still hear them...

Loud and clear, as if they were still talking...

If anything their comments had grown more vicious and cruel, some pitying them, others deeming them worthless beings for lacking the ability to use magic. "Perhaps they're right," Jon muttered to himself silently. "We are worthless. Look at me! I have passed two above-grade exams without barely trying! And I still can't..."

The voices grew louder.

"Why can't I use magic? Why?"

Louder.

As he repeated his mantra of frustration in his head, the voices of the children began receding...

Giving way to cries of pain...

"Class?" Miyu said worriedly, turning his head back sharply. His eyes widened. "What in zot...!"

The children lay wriggling on the floor, clutching their heads in agony. Tim watched in awe, his anger almost completely forgotten. He then turned to Jon and noticed he was standing straight as a poker, hands clenched, trembling.

"Hey Jon! What are you doing, sleeping! Something's happing to the guys!"

Jon immediately opened his eyes wide and relaxed himself. "What?"

As soon as he had done so, the children stopped writhing in pain. They then began getting up slowly and started rubbing their heads as Professor Miyu rushed from pupil to pupil to check if they were alright. Tim then widened his eyes again as he looked at a now annoyed Jon.

"What are you staring at? Hoping to suck some of my brains out or something? Zot knows you could do with some..."

"Yo Jon... did _you_ do that?"

Jon then turned to the still-groaning class, studying the scene with fascination. "I... I think I did," Jon said, looking down at himself. He then leaned against an ancient pillar, arms folded. "Very strange..." Unfortunately, the pillar was just to ancient to hold any longer, and it began to sway back. Jon almost immediately fell over in surprise. Suddenly, Tim decided to do something extremely stupid.

This wasn't his first stupid moment, and FAAAAAAAAAR from his last.

"I'll get it!"

"Tim, NO! STOP!" Miyu cried out, but it was too late. Tim had already put himself in front of the collapsing structure. A bone crunching crash was expected.

But not heard. In fact, only a soft thump was heard.

Professor Miyu, Jon, and the entire class watched in amazement as Tim, standing casually, held up the massive pillar with one hand. He wasn't even trying, as his arm was lazily bended slightly, adding to his audience's stupor. Tim then moved around to the side of the pillar, and let it gently down without harm.

"How... how did you...?"

Professor Miyu, his face pale, began muttering loudly to himself. "Not possible... they can't be... them..."

And from that moment on, Tim and Jon were alone.

_9:01 A.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

The first floor of the Sage's house was... large.

A lush, crimson, velvet carpet graced Tim's feet as he took in the magnificence of the Kain Library.

The towering bookshelves, overflowing with literature.

The vast array of desks and chairs.

The forbidden "Mountain Dew"...

Tim immediately shook his head furiously to rid himself of the thought. He didn't need any sidetracking from his mission. Go to Sage, get directions, go. Easy.

Quite a few Comixians, many he remembered from his ill-fated magic class, were seen at desks studying. Unfortunately, they remembered Tim all too well, and many began raising their books to cover their faces, or ignoring him entirely. Tim's great days were never in the village, having to endure this... bullcrap.

They were outside, in the actual sun, the actual sky, on the surface. Running, punking his brother, swimming, punking his brother, lying in the fields, punking his brother, and... oh yes. Punking his brother.

On the surface, where few ever went. Where few ever cared to go.

Tim then happened to notice a shy, red-haired student amongst them, buried in an unhealthy layer of complicated looking textbooks. But these weren't all magic books. Most of them were atlases and encyclopedias. Ruby then noticed Tim walking towards him in curiosity. Unlike the others, Ruby didn't feel uncomfortable around Tim at all. He was, in fact, intrigued by his amazing strength, and full of pity at the same time for the Comixian that couldn't use magic.

"Planning on going somewhere?" Tim said with a slight grin, as he pulled up a chair across from Ruby, turned it in the opposite direction, and plopped down on it.

"No. I never have the time," Ruby replied with a regrettable sigh. "Only books can take me anywhere."

"Uh huh," Tim nodded. "Come on, Ruby, you've always had your head in those books as long as I can remember. You shouldn't have to just look at those places in books, you should like, go there, you know?" The thought had never occurred to Ruby before, ironically enough. He had always thought he wasn't ready to experience the world and what it had to offer.

"Do... you really think so?" he asked Tim. "Course I do, man!" Tim replied with a laugh. "You've had, what... 6 years of studying so you could become a world-famous scholar? Then go do it, man! You're not going to learn anything more just moping around here all day."

Ruby's eyes gleamed at the encouragement. He looked down, slowly nodding. "Yes..." He then turned to face Tim with a smile. "Yes Tim, you're absolutely right!" He then stood up, leaning his arms on the desk. "All right then! I have finally made my decision! I'll go out and see the world!" All the other students in the library stopped what they were doing immediately and turned towards Ruby in surprise.

"You can't be serious, Ruby!"

"Yes, don't listen to that inferior! Your place is here!"

"Besides, consider the increase in hostile monsters as of late! Stay!"

Tim countered the statements with an acidic glare, trembling ever so slightly. He then softened, and turned to Ruby. "Eh, don't listen to those losers. Just go tell your parents you're leaving, get some supplies, and I'll catch you later."

Ruby nodded in delight and was about to set off, but then stopped and turned back to Tim. "You're... coming with me?"

Tim raised an upper eyelid, the Comixian equivalent of raising an eyebrow. "Mmm? No, not now. I got some stuff to do right now. I need to ask the Sage how to get to the northern cape of the island."

"Left turn at the first intersection, then right at the next one, then into the larger chambers of the Ring Caverns. It should be simple enough to find after the first couple of passages," Ruby said automatically as he turned to leave. Tim just stood there with a dumbfounded expression on his face, infuriated with himself that he could be so stupid as to still need the Sage's help in finding the caverns when he had _known_ that Ruby had more than enough knowledge of the entire island's underground tunnels himself.

Ruby laughed slightly at Tim's realization. "Oh, it's no trouble at all. If it's worth anything, you still would have to get the Sage's permission anyway to access the northern caverns. I'm just taking the southern path to the ports." And with that, Ruby headed out the door, a better and happier Comixian than he had ever been.

All the other Comixian students merely watched Ruby leave, then turned to Tim and shook their heads in disgust, and continued with their activities. Tim responded with a dissaproving glare. As far as he was concerned, they could all just bite it.He proceeded down the small corridors that led to the Sage's private chambers and office. Raising his hand carefully, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," a warm, ancient voice responded from within. Tim shrugged and opened the door. Inside the spacious office lay a large, elegantly carved wooden table, several chairs dotting its sides. At the head was a large, comfortable armchair, and within it, the Sage of Kain Village. The white-haired mayor studied his newcomer with slight worry.

"Tim? Good heavens, what are you doing here? Listen, if this is about the noodles, then let me make it clear that I had nothing to do with..."

"Nah sir, it's not that," Tim said, nearing the table but not bothering to take a seat. "Actually, I need your permission to unlock the northern caverns so I can head up to the cape." Now the Sage was even more surprised. "The cape? Whatever for?"

"Jon's back. He told me to meet him up there by noon," Tim grinned.

The Sage, at times, displayed a slight... weakness for the pranks that Tim pulled on Jon and others in the village. However, this was a different subject altogether, therefore, he allowed the worry of being found out to pass, and looked down, stroking his bottom head thoughtfully.

"Hmm... well Tim, you do know that there has been a slight increase in monsters as of late."

"Aaaannd... we're caring... why?" Tim asked, shrugging with his elbows, as he had no shoulders.

"I'll be frank, Tim," the Sage began, his face drawn and full of concern. "An unknown force is at work. The diminishment of birthings. The increase in the activity of monsters, even in daylight. These occurrences cannot all be coincidences."

"Yes sir."

"I have already sealed off the northern caverns because of this."

"Yes sir."

"And, of course, you nor your brother can use magic."

"...Yes...sir."

"...So be careful."

Tim's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. He had been expecting a major letdown, but instead was getting a break for once in his freaking life. He made a mental note to try and stop reading people. "Awesome. Thanks a million, sir!"

"...Just be back by sunset, boy. Both you and Jon, are we clear?"

Tim flung his arm into a salute, lips puckered for pleased effect. Unfortunately, his arm shot up to his head too fast and he was knocked onto the floor. As the Sage stood over Tim, his head shaking his head in amazement, the groggy Comixian raised his arm from the floor. "Cuh... c-crystal, sir," Tim said dizzily as he slowly got up.

"Good. Now you'd best be on your way, it's almost 10:00," the Sage replied with a smile. Tim nodded and dashed out of the room, and the building for that matter, with breakneck speed. 5 minutes later, he reached the gates of the village.

The gates that led to the surface of the island, where he and Jon fled so many times to escape the isolation and the loneliness of the village. Sure, everyone was friendly enough, and even tolerated their presence here, but it was clear that they were both considered inferior to the village, and even the entire Comixian race as a whole. Tim couldn't understand why he looked back then, back to the village that had ignored him and his brother as best as could be allowed.

It was a long look back, one of silence, thought, and perhaps even regret. Finally, he shrugged it off, opened the gates with his bare hands, and began the trek into the open arms of the world above.

_10:03 A.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

He was here.

Tim wiped his hand slowly across the large, white marble gates, engraved with magical symbols intended to repel intruders. However, they had no effect on Tim. The Sage had carved these runes himself, and he had willed that Tim should pass.

Tim gazed up at the bright blue sky, sifting in a deep, refreshing breath of natural air, without the slightest bit of magic to sustain it. The passage up into the valley was straightforward enough, with a simple steep, yet, supportive incline that took him up to the mouth of the small mountain, its rim adorned with marble columns with intricate art and carvings, that marked the entrance to Kain.

From there, a short hike from the central mountain to the edge of the valley was savored. From above, the entire island looked like a donut or ring of sorts, hence its name, the Ringed Isle. As Tim lifted his hand off the arcane carvings, the symbols began to glow a refreshing cyan, and the gates slowly swung open of their own accord, revealing the long, dark, winding passage to the northern cape of the island. He took one final look at the beautiful sky and the lush, picturesque meadows it blanketed, sighed in regret, and proceeded back into the darkness of the underground.

Eventually, he came to the cavern's first intersection. Tim made a mental note of the left path, but decided to at least look down the right one to see where it lead. It was nothing that could get him lost, just a short path to a dead end with a treasure chest. Tim rubbed his hands with glee at the discovery, and pried open the chest.

Nothing more but a Potion was inside, but that was still better than nothing. He decided to take it with him, and turned back to the intersection.

Suddenly, a small pricker, separated from its herd, bounced into the passage, blocking Tim's way. Legless and spherical in form, it bore two round hamster like ears, large black beetle eyes that reflected light in small places, a small nose complete with whiskers, and a cute W-mouth. Its two round paws were linked to it mentally rather than by flesh, and hovered closely by the creature's tan-furred body. It seemed frightened, as if desperately trying to escape some horrible fate.

Tim then smiled and approached the animal cautiously. "Well well well! Where did _you_ come from, little guy?"

The pricker then waved its paws wildly in front of it and began squealing in terror, as if warning the Comixian to stay back and run from this nightmare. Tim took the hint and started backing up. The poor creature then began cheeping in a pleading tone, using its terrified sounds to beg Tim to save it from whatever was behind this unknown fear.

Then, the pricker began going into convulsions, and then, silence. Just as Tim was about to touch the creature to check if it had died, the pricker's eyes suddenly shot open. Whatever was black in those innocent eyes had now turned blood-red, and without warning, the creature gave an unholy shriek of rage and bounced high into the air.

The reasoning behind the name "pricker" soon became evident as it curled up into a ball, paws disappearing inside, and thin, sharp, foot-long spines extended from the ball of fur, somehow without piercing the skin of the creature. It then started spinning wildly in midair, and launched itself at Tim.

Tim quickly leaned back and dodged the charge, then turned around, ready to answer the pricker's next attack. The living pincushion ricocheted around the walls, then shot itself at the wall above the empty chest and flung itself at Tim. This time Tim grabbed it by the side of its spines, struggling to keep the creature away from him.

The pricker then retracted its spines, (Tim was forced to let go) returned to its normal shape, and enveloped Tim's entire head in its mouth, all in one fluid motion. Surprised, the Comixian began flailing his arms around wildly and running about, trying to shake the pricker off.

The unpleasant smell of chewed up grass and the unnatural presence of arsenic was the least of Tim's worries as the flap of skin in the front of the creature's throat kept slapping his face as he struggled. At that moment, he had the stupidest and most disgusting idea he had concocted yet.

He bit it.

The pricker shrieked in pain, and spat Tim's head out immediately, falling to the ground and moaning in agony. Tim wasn't about to let the demented creature recover from the shock, and as the creature screeched in a demonic union of terror and anger, he brought his foot down upon it hard, instantly killing it. He shook his head wildly, still damp with saliva, and then gazed in sadness over the corpse of the once peaceful creature.

The pricker, bones broken, blood issuing from its limp mouth and ears, nevertheless now had an aura of calm about it, as if it had finally woken from a terrifying nightmare. Tim's eyes grew heavy as he picked up the dropped potion, still unscathed, and surveyed the dark deed.

"What was _that_ all about?"

_The corruption of purity,_

_The tainting of innocent life,_

_This cruelest of blasphemies,_

_Ends peace and ushers strife._

-Unknown Poet, Long Fallen Prey of the Evil One

One thing was for sure, Tim had a lot to think about as he walked through the winding paths, per Ruby's directions. As he made another right turn, he contemplated silently why a pricker would suddenly attack him like that. There was... something not right about it. Those eyes... the arsenic breath... this was way too messed up for him.

Tim had only a split second to react to the petit bomb that had dropped from the ceiling upon his entry into one of the larger chambers. Now _this_ was something Tim did not have to think twice about. The pudgy green creature reared its crown of large spines towards the unwelcome intruder and gave a cackle of glee.

Tim did a roundhouse kick, letting loose a cloud of dust into the air to blind the monster, then grabbed it by one of its spines and flung it into a distant wall with terrifying speed. The petit bomb gave a howl of anger before it exploded violently in a fireball of smoke and flames. The explosion alerted a nearby nest of dorei, causing the two birds to charge at Tim. As they ran, the blue-feathered emu-dodo hybrids emitted a strange, calming cascade of chirps that wafted through the caverns.

Tim started to feel rather drowsy, but tried to keep himself steady. He rightly realized this soothing melody was intended to put its victims to sleep, and had to slap himself in the face to remain alert.

He then quickly spread out his arms, as if to embrace rather than attack the dorei, then waved them like large worms. The birds, distracted by the apparent meals flopping about in front of them, continued their charge, centering on Tim's arms. Just as they were about to reach their targets, Tim's arms suddenly went rigid, coiled around the helpless dorei's necks like snakes, and effortlessly snapped them with a sickening crunch.

The area now cleared of enemies, Tim took this opportunity to let the effects of the dorei's chirping wear off. After 15 minutes or so, he continued unabated, tossing his potion in his right hand as he went.

"This is insane," he said to himself as he proceeded into the first of the final two chambers. "None of those animals are ever hostile... well, except the bombs, they've always got their butts jacked about something." He then remembered the crimson, blood-red eyes of the petit bomb, strangely identical to the crazed pricker he had killed earlier.

As were the eyes of the dorei.

And the eyes of the dozen prickers that just so happened to be nesting in this chamber.

Tim's eyes widened. "Oh. Crap."

For what seemed like an eternity, nothing moved. Something told him he would need the potion in his hand _very_ soon. Ironically, it was not for healing. He then hurled it into the group of enraged prickers, then jumped to avoid the barrage of fur and spines. He landed next to the potion, grabbed it, and made for the exit of the chamber.

He was blocked by a couple of prickers who ricocheted in front of him, and was quickly surrounded by the rest.

Tim groaned. It seemed that he had no other coice but to use it. He then channeled his life energy into his fist. It began crackling with surging light as he raised it high over his head. Undaunted, the prickers continued to inch forward, shrieking with demonic sounds.

He had no doubt the technique would save him, but he knew it would make him feel like crap afterwards. Bellowing an intimidating war cry, he plunged his fist into the ground hard.

A dome of white translucent energy issued forth from the grounded hand, expanding rapidly to encompass the entire room. The prickers were pushed back by this sudden burst of raw energy, as if it were solid. The damned creatures, bereft of all sanity, screeched their last as every bone in their bodies was crushed by the violent force of power against the walls.

His wretched task done, Tim collapsed on his knees, sweating profusely with exhaustion. The weariness would recede with time and repeated use of this warrior technique. The Neo Fist, Tim called it.

The saddened Comixian did not even bother to survey the bloodied remains, testaments to the ruined, twisted forms of once innocent life that he had taken. He scraped his hand across the floor, searching for the potion he had carried with him through this entire cave. Finding it, he stood up, took a deep breath, and pressed forward into the last room of this dank and desolate network of caverns.

What he found was something he had never seen before.

_11:06 A.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

"Activate scout drones 113-A and 585-D. Recon deployment will begin upon assessment of the drones' surveillance data."

"Yes sir."

As the corporal walked off, General Scott gazed again at the beautiful world they were sent to subdue. He strongly regretted visiting such massive force against such a magnificent, beautiful planet. Scott shook his head in sadness, and loaded the video files that would be broadcasted from the scouting drones deployed onto Nirvana's surface.

The corporal reached the weapons bridge of the ship to give Colonel Phillip his orders--and receive his daily crap at the sadistic hands of the tyrannical officer. He hated this job more than anything, and boarded the bridge cautiously, sweating in fear as he approached.

"C-Colonel! The General has ordered immediate deployment of the drones."

A wicked smile came across Phillip's face. He nodded to the seven gunners below to carry out the order, then turned back to the trembling corporal. "Why stop there? Hell, we'll give 'em a welcoming barbeque!"

This was too much for several of the gunners. From their stations, they flung valid accusations at the Colonel, ranging from pleas to protest. Phillip was not amused. A cry of immense pain issued from the nearby corporal's lips as Phillip suddenly flung him across his bended knee and brought his elbow crashing down onto his back, utterly shattering it.

He then tossed the downed corporal over to the stunned medics in the back of the room and said flatly, "He fell down some stairs, I don't care. Not a word or you'll be brushing your teeth with your asses."

He then turned to the enraged gunners. "Let that be a lesson to you all. Now ready the secondary cannon." The gunners begrudgingly turned back to their stations and activated the systems of the space station's reserve laser cannon. As the targeting reticule appeared over the enlarged visage of the planet, Phillip grinned cruelly and selected his target.

A small, ring-shaped island in the middle of nowhere...

_11:06 A.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

It was a spherical metallic... _orb_; Tim didn't know how else to describe it. A pair of slender, rigid arms complete with menacing pincers issued from the hull of the oddity. There were many flashing red lights on the front of it, in place of a face. Underneath were several more smaller appendages, with what looked like wires attached to them.

The dark-grey Majesty Scout Drone observed the newcomer with meticulous interest. Tim then crouched over in a fighting position. After all, everything else in this cave had tried to attack him, why should this thing be any different?

Although the drone had limited intelligence, it could identify this position as a threat. Tim barely had time to jump out of the way as the series of cyan lasers fired from the eyes of the robot and hopelessly charred the cavern walls behind where Tim had stood.

Tim, impressed with this creature's supposed "magic spell", jumped high into the air, careful to land his blow on an unprotected area. His fist rang true with a deep, metallic, sound as the drone was flung into the stone walls, drilling several feet into them. The dust barely cleared before a missile came screaming out of it, aimed at the Comixian.

Unfortunately, Tim had no idea that these things explode when you punch them.

BOOM!

Tim was flung back into the wall opposite the robot, though he did not penetrate it. As he slowly got up, he was shocked to see that his punch hadn't even dented the metal hull of the drone. The robot shivered slightly however, and Tim rightly guessed that using the missile and laser in such quick succession had fatigued it.

He grinned in triumph. Now all he had to do was tire it out.

"Over here, rusty!" Tim taunted, and threw a few pebbles at the robot to agitate it. His tactic worked, as the drone let loose with a shower of lasers and missiles at the Comixian.

Tim jumped and ran about the room, ducking for cover when he could, finding another means of irritating the drone, and repeating the whole freaking thing over again. Halfway into it, he was forced to apply his potion on a badly burned arm, courtesy of a stray missile. Tim merely swallowed his pain, and continued on. Almost an hour later, the drone finally ceased fire, shaking violently and emitting intense heat. Tim wisely backed away from it, then ducked as the machine self-destructed with the force of a small napalm storm. Even after all that, the hull of the robot was unharmed, thanks to the mysterious metal it was made of. But it was clear that its internal components weren't near as lucky, and the drone fell with a thud to the earth and functioned no more.

Tim rose from a pile of ruined stone and puckered his lips to blow a sigh of relief as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "Whew! Whatever that thing was, it sure can take a lot! But not no' mo'," Tim said, lips still puckered as he bent his head over the smoldering remains of the robot.

"Know why? 'Cuz I... RULE! YAYYUH!" Tim bellowed as he thrust his arms back and forth in a rowing motion, moonwalking around the metallic corpse.

"YOU CAN'T TOUCH 'DIS, MO' FO'! WHOO!"

Satisfied with his victory jig, Tim turned to the light that beckoned him to the exit of the caverns...

And his brother waiting on the other side.

"JON! JON! YO JON! I'M HERE!" Tim called out. Jon turned his head, his moment of solitude at the edge of the cape's cliff interrupted by the arrival of his halfwit older brother.

He was kind of hoping Tim wouldn't show.

Even though they were twins, Tim and Jon could not be more different. True, they did share the exact same body build and form, but from the bottoms of their heads on, the similarities nigh ended.

Jon was completely bald, with narrow slits for eyes and a large, toothy, moon-shaped smile that seemed to be glued to his face as if it were flat cardboard. Although the smile was perpetual, Jon found other ways to express emotion--or lack thereof. Occasionally, the slits played the role of eyebrows when two U-shaped black eyes formed right underneath them. This was usually when Jon was agitated, sighing, or in an otherwise negative mood. They did share the same nose, though. And while Tim was carefree, warm, and friendly, Jon was cold and apathetic.

"So, you did show after all."

One final likeness of Tim and Jon was that they had the exact same voice, although the way in which they spoke could easily distinguish the two. Jon spoke in a low, bored, sarcastic tone.

"It was boring as crap without you," Tim grinned. "I actually had to clean up after myself."

"Oh, woe is you," Jon said, rolling his eyes. Jon's insulting remarks never bothered Tim for some reason. He saw this as merely an excuse to go on.

"So... how's life on the outside treating you?" Tim asked. "Not much to say," Jon replied, hoping to end the discussion as quickly as possible. "Life goes on, that's all."

"You hide something," Tim impishly grinned. His head coiled around an unmoving, unfazed Jon, smiling insincerely. "There is a great adventure out there, waiting to be discovered, new sights, new smells, and the forbidden Mountain Dew await." Jon didn't even bother to turn his head to face Tim. "No," Jon acidly replied, a bead of sweat on his face. "It sucks. That is all."

Tim uncoiled his head and put his hands where human hips would be, frowning. "Oh, come on, man! You're hiding something! I know it!"

Tim then got on his knees, his eyes beetle black like a pricker's. "Oh come on. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease? Tell me! Tell me! TELL ME! At least give me one word to describe it! ONE!"

Jon looked up in the sky to ignore him, noticed the giant flaring beam of red light speeding towards the island, and gave Tim his one word.

"DUCK!"

"Wha...?" Tim began, but Jon had already pushed Tim off the cliff and jumped down after him.

What happened after that... was pure chaos.

Pandemonium that could only be heard... heard in the screaming of Comixian voices... heard in the decimation of stone, weed, and marble... shielded from view by an all-consuming white light.

Pandemonium that ended in fifty seconds flat... and took the Ringed Isle with it.

_11:12 A.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

"Target... eliminated."

The gunner's report was presented in a flat tone, but he and his comrades were all furious at this unmerited command. Not only did they decimate an island that was CONFIRMED to be populated by civilians, but they had done so without warning, and in direct disobedience to the General, possibly breaching every code of war ethics the Majesty had on file!

But Colonel Phillip didn't care. He just kept on laughing.

_12:54 P.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

Light was quickly replaced with dust. Light signaled the sudden judgment, dust declared it passed.

Tim slowly got up, eyelids heavy from such a hectic period of unconsciousness.

"Jon...?"

"Right here," came the unemotional reply next to him.

"Wha... what the heck just happened back there?" Tim said groggily, not quite regaining his bearings.

"You're lucky we have the same father," Jon retorted. "Else I would have just left you up there to get wasted."

"Glad to see you're fine," Tim muttered sarcastically, rubbing his sore head. "Mmph... how long were we out?"

"Me? About fifteen minutes. You? Almost an hour. Too bad you ruined the peace and quiet by waking up."

"...so...huh? Wasted? What do you mean, wasted?" Tim replied, his voice growing more worried.

"The dust clears," Jon said in a choked voice. Even he could not hold back a tear... not for this.

And together, the Comixian twins looked down upon the oasis of dusty sand that was once their home. Now, it was a smoldering crater, with not a trace of Kain to be seen, no bones, no possessions...

...Nothing.

The sea was only held back by the ringed wall of rubble and mountainous debris that had piled around the sandy locale in the aftermath.

The same ring that Tim and Jon now stood on.

Tim could say nothing. Eyes widened, mouth agape, he crashed to his knees.

No word, no sound, could express such an atrocity.

Only silence could tell.

Jon's head was bowed to the ground, his face bearing shock and dismay. The perpetual smile kept him from frowning, but nevertheless, you could easily tell.

"This... this cannot be..."

A single tear ran down Jon's face, his first true taste of the power of sorrow, a mighty emotion that not even apathy could defeat.

Many things ran through Tim's mind at once. Anger... despair... sorrow... revenge...

He had not even seen the beam of red light that had erased his old life from existence.

And already, he was determined to have his revenge.

A menacing, painful scowl ran across Tim's face. Without even turning to Jon, he said flatly. "Let's move on." Jon, finally agreeing with his brother for the first time in his life, nodded solemnly and followed him into the heart of the shallow, sand-filled crater.

_1:23 P.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

At last, they had reached the center. Nothing had survived that could possibly have held them back. Tim's wrath had subsided slightly, and turned to guilt. He didn't know why he felt guilty. He hadn't caused any of this.

But then again, the selfless are often guilt-ridden for having survived alone.

Of course, Jon had also survived. But he didn't get along very well with Tim, so he barely counted. But, there was something in the center that shouldn't have been there... something that didn't belong...

"A tunnel," Jon noted curiously. "But what's it doing here? I never saw it before," Tim replied in confusion, his anger and guilt deadened for the time being.

"This tunnel looks old," Jon said peering over the amazingly preserved ladder and into the darkness below. "It may have been buried here long before Kain was dug. The blast must have unearthed it." Tim nodded, the sadness coming back. "Well, there's nothing for us out here anymore. Only one thing left to do."

Jon nodded in agreement. "You go down first, and let me know when you get lost. Then it'll be safe for _me_ to come down." Tim sweated in annoyance, then shook his head and dived down, ignoring the ladder. A few minutes later, Tim's voice could be heard echoing from the mouth of the tunnel.

"Yo Jon! It's cool! Come on down! You gotta see this! This is some tricked-out schiznit, man!" Jon shrugged, and jumped down after him. He landed in a foggy, abandoned passageway, wrought of ancient, moss-covered stone and other such material. Tim waited for him to get up, then led the way down.

"Must be like some ancient ruins or something," Tim commented with a grin. "Can you believe all this? Can you believe all this was down here?"

"I believe you should shut up," Jon groaned as they entered the first chamber.

Nothing hostile greeted them here; the entire ruin reeked of pure loneliness. However, the two Comixians did notice foreign design in these ruins.

For one thing, they had never heard of "automatic sliding doors", nor of "speakerphones" or "computers". For another thing, these machines didn't seem to be built for the use of Comixians, as evidenced at Tim's clumsy attempt to press the keys on a phone.

"Stupid whatever-thing."

Out of curiosity, Jon pressed a red button next to a large, moss-covered golden door. To their surprise, the door creaked open. Tim whistled in approval, lips puckered. "Spif-FEH." Jon merely shook his head and walked inside, Tim following close behind. Amidst a row of oddly designed capsules bearing... small bipedal creatures Tim had never seen before, there was a giant metal orb at the end laced with all manner of wires and circuitry.

"Check it out," Tim said, peering at a capsule containing a small boy. "What are these creatures, anyway?" "Think they're called 'hoo-mance' or something," Jon said absentmindedly, observing the machinery rather than the beings it kept in suspended animation. "I remember hearing about them in my travels. They're supposed to exist on other planets or something like that."

"So you DID have something to hide," Tim suddenly barked, flashing a triumphant grin. "HAH! I KNEW IT!"

"Keep your voice down," Jon said, venom laced in his words. "This ruin is very old; there's no telling what might be down here."

"Whatever it is, bet it's dead," Tim shrugged as he poked at the glass capsule with the boy. "These hoo-mans or whatever you call them sure look like it."

In actuality, Tim was right. The wires feeding the life support systems in the capsules had decayed away. The power core remained intact, but with no way to give that power to the capsules...

"At least they went peacefully," Tim said quietly with a frown. The bodies were perfectly preserved, and did look very peaceful, as if they were merely sleeping. "Hmm... I wonder," Jon said to himself, trying the last button. The room suddenly lit up, humming to life as multi-colored lights began flashing on the seemingly dead orb.

"Nice going!" Tim spat at Jon. "I couldn't have known that something like this would happen!" Jon snapped back angrily. The twins' bickering was cut short by a veil of mist protruding from the metal orb, now slowly lowering itself into the floor in sections.

Both Tim and Jon gazed with widened eyes at what lay inside.

It was a... doll.

A small stuffed doll, no larger than one foot tall lay inside a smaller orb make of cyan glass, looking as if it was sleeping. But it had to be the strangest looking doll anyone had ever seen.

Its fur was mostly grey, with a white colored tummy and wrists, along with white markings on its face and cheeks. Its body was the shape of an oval, with stubby arms and legs coming out thin and growing thicker up to the digitless, pink-furred tips of its paws. It bore four fox ears, one pair each growing from the top and bottom of its perfectly spherical head. A noseless face and a large, fluffy, black and yellow raccoon tail coming out of the back of its head completed its features. The face seemed peaceful, and yet sad at the same time, as if it had suffered horrible things before it came to rest.

"Tim!" Jon started suddenly, eyes growing wider. "That thing's... alive!"

"Huh!" Tim turned to Jon, genuinely dumbstruck. Then, shrugging off the stupor, he turned to face the glass orb encasing the sleeping doll. If whatever was inside that orb truly was alive, then there was only one thing for Tim to do.

"Tim!" Jon called out after him. "Don't do anything stupid--well, it's too late for that _now_," he said silently with a groan. Tim easily punched through the glass, breaking the entire sphere. A gust of some unidentified air seemed to pour out of the space the orb had once contained. Tim then gingerly picked up the doll and held it in his arms, and watched in amazement as it began to stir.

"Mmmph... mmm... huh...?"

Tim had certainly expected the high-pitched, anime-cute, "girly but still boyish" voice, but was completely thrown off by the heavy Brooklyn accent that accompanied it.

"Wha's... What's goin' on?"

Tim was taken aback slightly by the doll's eyes as he opened them. They weren't even circular; they were nothing more than large black Xs stitched onto his groggy and confused face. The doll then took a better look at his surroundings, then up to the stranger that held him. He gave a cry of surprise and fell out of Tim's arms onto the floor.

"Easy, little guy. No one's going to hurt you," Tim said with a fatherly smile as he slowly approached the frightened doll. "Wait a sec... who're you guys?" the doll said in confusion as he backed up into a piece of rusted machinery. He turned to examine the piece, then looked all around the room in shock. "What happened here? Where's Mama!" The doll started to tear in panic, his eyes becoming those of a pricker's. Tim started sweating and looking the other way. "Hate to break it to you, kid... well actually, I don't care. He might," Jon said as he leaned against one of the capsules, gesturing to Tim. The doll turned to Tim with dampened eyes. "Ah... do you have any clue how long you've been asleep down here?" The doll shook his head. "Unh uh."

"Um... well," Tim said nervously, scratching the back of his head. "Uh, I... think it's been like... years." The doll looked around the decayed, ancient locale that he had seen before as a busy, thriving hive of activity only moments ago...

And remembered the frightened faces of human children, some in tears, others in trembling courage, as they bade their parents goodbye and unknowingly slept forevermore.

Remembered his mother's soft voice... her gentle touch...

The little doll finally choked out a word.

"Decades?"

"We're leaning more towards millennia," Jon said bluntly.

This was too much for the frazzled child to bear. He crashed onto the ground in a split.

Hiccupped twice.

And let his tears and wailing fill the silence of his decayed and long desolate world.

Tim and Jon were also on the ground, squirming and clutching their heads in pain. "CAN HE GET ANY LOUDER!" Jon shouted in irritation above the tiny doll's booming voice. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO MADE HIM CRY!" Tim retorted. "YEAH, SURE! BLAME IT ON ME!" Jon spat back.

"YOU _DID_!"

"WELL THEN, _DO_ SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"

Tim then inched over to the howling child to console him, still burying his hands in the side of his head to screen out the noise. Looking at Jon and shrugging, he did the most natural thing in the world.

He picked up the doll and locked him in a hug.

The familiar safety and comfort of a loving embrace caused the doll's crying to slowly cease. "Calm down, calm down. Everything's going to fine. Be cool, be cool, be cool, be cool..." Tim quietly chanted as the doll began to calm himself. Seeing that he was going to be fine, Tim let the poor creature gently down and got on one knee to talk to him.

"Ugh... glad that's over. That walking pile of rags needs a Mute spell something awful," Jon groaned as he rubbed the brow of his head. Tim gave him a disapproving glare, then turned to the sniffling doll with a gentle smile. "So... what's your name?"

"S-Sam. Samiel. B-but everyone calls me Rite," the doll responded, still tearing. "Rite, huh?" Tim frowned. "Have I heard that before...?" The Comixian then shook his head. "OK then, Rite. I'm Tim, and that guy over there's my younger twin brother/jerk/creep/a-hole/..."

"Jon," Jon finished, not giving Tim any chance to continue his barrage of insults.

"Nice ta meet ya," Rite said, slowly displaying a smile of gratitude.

"So then..." Tim said curiously. "What's a poor little kid like you doing in a place like this?"

"Dunno," Rite replied thoughtfully, his sadness now completely gone. "Whateva it was, it was somethin' important. They was puttin' a whole buncha' kids inta tha freezin' capsules..."

"Mean these?" Tim asked in confusion, pointing toward the ancient pods where the dead human children lay. "That's what they are?"

"Yah," Rite continued. "Said somethin' 'bout puttin' 'em ta sleep 'till the enda tha war, somethin' like dat."

"War?" Tim replied, now even more puzzled.

"He probably means the ancient war that was supposedly fought between Comixians and demons thousands of years ago," Jon supplied in a bored tone, propping himself back up against the wall, arms folded.

"Whoa, cool," Tim said. He then turned back to Rite. "Know what? We lost our home, too. It was only hours ago. Nothing's left."

"Really?" Rite said in surprise, ears propped up. "Then... ya know what it's like!"

"That's right," Tim said with a nod of his head. "And you know what? We're not giving up just because we lost everything dear to us. We're going to live on--persevere!" Tim then put his hands on his sides and stood up proudly, head in the air.

"Until we get lost and die down here in these ruins," Jon put in apathetically.

Tim tripped over himself and fell with a loud thud. As he got back up, rubbing his sore head, he shot a triumphant grin at the emotionless Jon. "Know what? We don't have to worry about that now! We got us a _guide_, boy!" Rite pointed to himself unsurely. "Um, whaddaya mean _me_?" Tim nodded. "'Course I mean you! I mean, you've been here for thousands of years! You should be able to spot every speck of dust in this whole freaking ruin!"

"Heh, that's cute Tim. Real cute," Jon said sarcastically, bobbing his head up and down in small bursts. "But, ah... that will _never_ work."

_3:14 P.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

"This _SO_ WORKED! HAH! I told you! I _RULE_, YOUR _WORLD_!" Tim laughed loudly as Rite led the way through the network of hallways and rooms.

Jon was not about to admit he was wrong. "He'll eventually get us lost," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, but Tim could easily tell that he was beat.

After a while, no one was unnerved by the fact that Rite could fly by bobbing his raccoon tail up and down. He just said it came naturally to him, and left it at that. Perhaps Tim and Jon were quick to accept this because, like the little doll, they could not use magic, but were nevertheless gifted with bizarre powers.

They had had a few encounters with what Rite referred to as "robots", but none of them seemed to be willing to attack, unless provoked of course. Once the trio had found that the stationary machines ceased fire when they left it alone, they decided to keep ignoring them and continue on.

The structure of the ruins soon replaced crude stone with bright paneling, wrought from mysteriously unbreakable metal all around, laced with intricate designs to give the entire place a more civilized feel. The metal, surprisingly, had not faded nor rusted in the slightest, even after thousands of years of reclusion.

An hour later, Rite turned aside to the left, into a small living room.

It housed an old-looking bed that looked about ready to crumble into dust at the slightest touch, and a dresser with a vase of particles that seemed to align themselves into what would once be considered a bouquet of roses. The dresser was made of the same grayish metal, so it remained intact. "Rite? Something wrong?" Tim asked with concern as Jon leaned against the wall with an expression that could melt the makeup off a birthday clown.

Rite, his face bearing a bitter mixture of sadness, memory, and solemness, opened the top drawer to reveal...

Two strangely well-conditioned, metallic magnums, with a white plating at the top of each that gave off a brilliant sheen.

"These... these were... my mama's," Rite said with a tear in his eye. He then took them both reverently and turned to face the two Comixians. Giving them a slight twirl, he gripped the handles tightly, and slowly hovered out the door, with Tim and Jon close behind.

At last, Jon was able to gloat. "You see? I _told_ you he would lead us nowhere!"

Sure enough, they came to what seemed like a dead end. A large, teal-carpeted room greeted them, with a locked door on one side, a broad corridor that housed an extremely deep pit of razor-sharp spikes on the other, and in the middle, yet another of those "Domefans", as Tim decided to call the dome shaped robots that remained unmoving unless threatened. "Whose frickin' _idea_ was this?" Tim cried out in utter disbelief, staring down at the fifty-foot drop into the bed of spikes. "Someone definitely did not want that door to be opened anytime soon," Jon agreed.

Tim then had an idea. "Hey Rite, see that switch over there?" Tim asked Rite, gesturing to the red switch that hung on the wall overlooking the bed of spikes at the other end.

"Leave it ta me."

Rite cautiously began to hover over the horrible impaling death that awaited him should he make a mistake. He soon began to panic in midair as he looked down.

Jon gave a loud, exasperated groan. "Zot, what a wuss." Tim stared daggers at him, then called out to Rite. "Just don't look down! Look up!" Rite did so, and spikes were greeting him from above.

"Um... look at the sides?" Spikes dotted the right and left walls as well.

"Straight ahead," Tim said with his face in his hand. Spikes lined the wall with the switch as well, though not to the point where one couldn't get at it.

Tim let out a huge sigh. "At me." Unfortunately, Jon had turned on a nearby television to take his mind off the two idiots' futile attempts, and the TV was broadcasting directly from behind Tim. It was, strangely enough, the MacGyver show, and soon the predicted message was emitted from the TV's booming speakers.

"You're watching Spike TV..."

"AAWWWW CRAP!" Tim screamed in dismay. "Just... just go, Rite! And for zot's sake, TURN THAT THING OFF, JON!" Jon turned his head to meet the command. "24 is on."

"Cool, really?" Tim said in a normal tone, his attention now completely turned to the television. "What's that about?"

"GUYS!"

Tim and Jon both turned to Rite's cry of victory. "I did it! I got ta tha switch!" The two Comixians shrugged, then turned off the TV and walked over to the spike-laden pit.

Which was no longer a nasty fifty-foot drop, but now, a nasty five-foot drop.

Tim was the first to break the long silence. "...What a rip-off."

"I had... somewhat expected... that the switch would actually, I don't know, open the DOOR!" Jon seethed in frustration as he looked down. "Sorry guys," Rite said with a nervous grin as he put his paw to the back of his head. "Not your fault, Rite," Tim sighed. "Nope. It's Tim's," Jon said flatly. All three of them knew full well that Jon was trying to push Tim's buttons out of lack of helpful ones to press in this room.

Tim shook his head, then did a double take. "Hey Jon, was that platform there before?"

Jon and Rite both turned, and sure enough, there was a thin platform jutting out of the spike-infested wall where the switch had been. Not only that, but a small opening could now be seen to the right of the platform, that led off into the next room.

There was just one more problem left to solve.

"No way I'm jumping that," Tim said firmly, and right he was. He would certainly be skewered by the spikes lining the walls and ceiling, not to mention the ones at the back of the platform. It was just too close of a space to safely jump through. "So what _are_ we supposed to do? _Walk_ across?" Jon said helplessly. Tim looked around the other side of the room and spotted the domefan in the center they had neglected to care about.

"Something like that," he grinned as he carefully approached it.

"Um...," Rite began, but Jon cut him off with a dismissing wave. "Just let him. If he thinks he's actually smart enough to come up with a good idea, then at least let his peanut brain dare to dream." Despite key points to the contrary, Jon had obviously never had any confidence in his brother's ability to think, let alone hatch a worthy idea. Fight? Erm, maybe a little. Plan? No way in hell.

"Rise and shine, chrome dome!" Tim cried out with a mocking laugh as he kicked the domefan awake. The dome-armored sentinel bore the same indestructible metal Tim had seen on the sentry back on the surface, as well as in the ruins, all over its short, squat body. However, Tim had noted, its underside was not so well protected.

The domefan hummed to life, Tim's odd choice of name given clear voice as it extended upwards from a metallic pole on its bottom, drawing four diagonal laser cannons out of the sides of the newly formed pillar, and then shooting thin, cyan beams of constant energy out of them, rotating and sweeping them rapidly across the area.

Tim was already positioned on top of the domefan, but Jon had a harder time of it as he constantly jumped, trying to avoid having his legs sliced off at the thighs. His burden was eased, however, as Rite put one of his magnums in between his teeth, grabbed Jon's arm with his now free paw, and strenuously lifted him up and out of harm's way. As they hovered above the searing lasers, Jon took the time to notice that Rite's pearly whites were perfectly normal, save for the fact that he had sharp little fangs, for some odd reason.

Tim then jumped into the air, and stomped the domefan repeatedly, crushing its defense systems and allowing Rite to let Jon down. Rite then took the magnum out of his mouth and pointed it toward the domefan, prepared to fire should something in Tim's plan go amiss.

The immediate threat now gone, Tim hopped back onto the ground and ripped the struggling machine out of the floor, making sure to carry it by its dome top and not letting his hands get in the way of those menacing blades that had retracted out of its bottom to supplement the ruined lasers.

"Yo guys! A little room, if you will?" Jon and Rite obliged, and Tim looked down onto the depressed spike-laden surface that had once been a pit. Shrugging, he threw the buzzing domefan into it and watched with satisfaction as the impaled robot ceased to function. The indestructible metal the robot's top was made of refused to cede to the spikes. However, it's bottom was hopelessly skewered, holding it tightly in place...

...Making it an ideal stepping stone.

Tim nodded and grinned at the ruined domefan, and turned towards Jon and Rite with a impish smile so huge Rite thought it would split his face in two. Tim then walked casually slow over to Jon, and whispered quietly, "Say it."

Jon was clearly ticked, but did nothing more than grunt at Tim's demand of victory. "Saaay it," he whispered again in a singsong tone. Jon shut his eyes tightly, and muttered his acceptance of Tim's brilliant idea with only the faintest of volumes. Tim then looked up innocently, lips puckered. "Can't hear you." Jon had had enough. "I said _bite_ me."

Tim and Rite had somehow been able to discern what he had really said, but then again, Jon had always been too proud to admit when he was wrong.

"Now let's get out of here," Jon grumbled with a discernable scowl, and proceeded to step onto the securely fastened carcass of the domefan, and onto the platform. Tim and Rite beamed at each other, then followed Jon onto the platform and into the dark corridor.

_5:26 P.M. February 23, 20,000 A.D._

The three eventually stumbled their way into a dark room, offering no trace of light whatsoever.

"Craptastic," Jon flatly complained. "Now what, o prodigious brother of mine?"

"Shut up. I'm sure there's some light in here somewhere."

Rite, however, was inexplicably being drawn to the source of what he was searching for... light. They needed a light switch, therefore, he was instinctively drawn to one by some unknown force.

"Guys! I think I founda light switch!" Rite then happily flicked it on, revealing the emptiness of the room...

...And the giant grey breastplate, easily twice Tim or Jon's size, that stood on a tall eight-foot pole in the back of it.

The randomly-sized red lights dotted arbitrarily around the center of the breastplate/pole revealed it to be a giant robot. On each side of it was a mammoth, balled-up fist, resembling that of a gloved human's, ending with a giant reception spike at the wrist. As the lights in the room flickered to life, so did the eyes of the mechanized monstrosity. A flat, monotonous voice issued from the robot and addressed the surprised intruders.

"Guardian Unit Alpha-I8-V8 activated. Commencing security protocol."

"Uh, hold up. What did you just say?" Tim said in confusion, few of these words being familiar to him at all. The robot, however, was not speaking to him nor anyone in particular, but was merely voicing his program's execution. Without warning, the left fist rose into the air and shot itself at the trio. They all dodged with relative ease, then assumed fighting positions.

Jon turned to Rite and waved him away. "Get back and hide. Let us handle this."

"But I..."

"I said _go_," Jon barked hurriedly, not even bothering to turn toward the frustrated doll. "No. Let him fight. He's got just as much cause to as us," Tim said firmly, now emitting a strange aura of command. "He's just a child! He'll get in our way!" Jon retorted as he leaned back sharply to avoid another blow from the Guardian's fist, then flipped over another with inhuman grace.

"No time to argue! If he wants to fight, let him!" Tim spat back as he grabbed the next incoming fist and hurled it back at the robot's eyes. "Let's go, Rite!"

Confidence returning to him, the little doll nodded with a fierce grin. He then brandished his twin magnums, the only memory he had left of his mother, and the life he once cherished, and opened fire on the surprised Guardian with incredible stability and methodical consistency.

Tim and Jon, who had both never seen anything like a gun before, stopped to watch the small cyan energy blasts spew forth from the magnums with thunderstruck awe. They were even more surprised to see that the blasts did not explode on the Guardian's predictably armored body, but rather, passed through it and issued muffled explosions from within. So although the armor was made of the same invincible metal as before, the energy simply bypassed it and did damage where it counted the most--on the inside.

The Comixians quickly regained their composure when they realized that the magnums' firepower simply wasn't enough to damage it greatly. What made matters worse was that the Guardian, sensing its internal damage, routinely plugged its fists into two glowing depressions in the walls on both sides and began channeling some sort of healing energy through its body in the form of a thick, emerald-colored beam, feeling refreshed afterwards. After a few moments of observation, (and ducking the fists) Jon had an idea.

"Rite! Keep firing! Tim! Get on the left side of it!"

Rite protested that his magnums were doing no good, but it only took a menacing glare from Jon to scare the flustered doll into maintaining a steady stream of fire. Surprisingly, Rite was able to dodge quite well, even when the robot changed tactics and fired cyan lasers from each of its 9 eyes, sweeping them in random directions in a desperate attempt to hit its small, agile target.

Meanwhile, Tim had followed Jon's lead and put himself in between the Guardian's left side and the recharging station on the wall, as Jon took the right side. Eventually, the Guardian sensed it was once again taking too much damage, and put its fists into the rechargers again, ready to welcome the relieving flow of energy.

But it did not come.

Tim and Jon stood on either side of the robot, blocking the flow of healing energy from reaching the Guardian's body and absorbing it harmlessly with their own. Realizing that its weakness had been discovered, the robot decided to stage a last-ditch effort to take down the intruders with him.

"Reconfiguring energy fields... reversing properties of repairing stations..."

Jon then had a disturbing vision of both of them being burned to ashes by a ray of white energy emitting from the recharging stations. He turned to Tim in a panic. "MOVE!"

Tim automatically obliged, and the two were able to fling themselves out of harm's way as the recharging stations, now configured into weapons rather than healing agents, both fired a thick white beam of searing energy that passed through the Guardian's armored hull without incident and burned away everything inside, causing a series of huge explosions to burst forth from the orifices of the machine.

The Guardian destroyed, Tim, Jon, and their new friend Rite could breathe easy again.

At least for a few seconds before they noticed the sound of rushing water nearby.

What they didn't know was that a few hours after their descent into the ruins, the wall of debris blocking the sea from the huge crater of the Ringed Isle had finally given way, burying the entire island in a torrent of seawater.

And commencing the flooding of the entire ruin.

"The door's jammed!" Tim cried out in panic as he tried to seal the entryway that they had come in through.

"And there's no way out!" Rite replied in like hysteria as he tried to push the robot out of the way of the other locked door, to no avail. The three huddled together, ready to stand firm in their last few moments of life. As the room with the spikes began to flood beyond, Jon took the time to calmly, but worriedly, tell Tim something he never thought he would ever do.

"Tim, no matter what I've said... I've always kind of... sort of... _enjoyed_ being your brother."

"Jon, I gave your entire carved figurine collection to charity so I could get a complimentary stick of gum," Tim replied automatically in like tone. Jon then suddenly turned to Tim with an unforgiving, steely glare that in no way registered the watery grave they were all doomed to. "You did _what_ now?" Tim could only give a nervous, toothy grin in response.

Finally the wave of rushing water had started flowing into the room, coming at the three with breakneck speed and force. As Tim and Rite screamed in horror, Jon instinctively gripped them tightly and called out in his mind for safety...

He called out for a place to escape... somewhere... anywhere but here... for someone to help them in this dire hour...

6:00 A.M. February 24, 20,000 A.D.

When Tim opened his eyes next, darkness greeted him.

Well, this was it. As far as Tim was concerned, they were all deep-sixed and screwed royally. At least, that was his thought until he stood up straight and surveyed his surroundings, frowning in confusion. He knew Heaven didn't look like this. And he was pretty sure that Hell didsn't have a straw-roofed shack floating around in the middle of... wherever the heck this place was.

Sure enough, there was a medieval, cylindrical shack with a straw-thatched roof, made entirely of marble. A black steel chimney issued a constant stream of smoke from within the bowels of the structure. But, rather than being nasty and hazardous-smelling, this smoke gave off a refreshing odor, like that of flowers, peppermint, or any other nice scent one might enjoy.

Tim then noticed his still grounded friends lying on the... ground, if you could call the black nothingness on which they were standing _ground_. "Rite... Jon, wake up," Tim said softly, nudging them awake with his foot. While Rite was able to get up, albeit slowly and groggily, Jon was immediately shocked into waking by the telltale scent of Tim's putrid (at least to him) feet.

"In case you're wondering, I'm fine," Jon said as he dusted himself off. Rite looked around with a nervous frown at the cottage and the ever-present blackness that surrounded it. "Tim... do ya think we're... ya know..."

"Pushing up daisies? Smoked? Iced? Six feet under?"

"I was gonna say dead."

Jon then walked up to Tim and smacked him in the back of his head with enough force to knock him down on the floor. He swerved his wrist and cracked it with pleasure as he enjoyed a shout of surprise and pain from his brother. "Well, I guess we're not."

"You could've just tapped me or something," Tim grumbled as he got to his feet. "Yes, but which option would have satisfied me?" Jon said with an insincere tone of pleasantness in his voice. "Now come on. Let's check out that shack," he continued, resuming his normal apathetic voice.

Suddenly, the old wooden door swung open, the illuminating light within blocking the inside from view. A figure stepped through, waiting at the door and gesturing the three to step forward. As Tim, Jon, and Rite came closer, they came face-to-face with him... or it, they couldn't really tell, due to the person's bizarre form.

He/she looked like any ordinary human, but he/she was at least seven-and-a-half feet tall, with a marginal, slightly skinny build. No one could tell whether or not this being was a man or woman, because his entire head was completely covered by a three-foot high, cone-shaped collar, like those large white cones you would see a dog wearing. However, the collar was laced in gold and completely coated in random colors, all flowing seamlessly into each other. Not only that, but it was also covered with random symbols, ranging from holy runes to question marks to asterisks. His loose white garb looked about 2-3 times too large for himself, and was covered in a stream of black printed words, making the entire outfit resemble the pages of a book.

"Come in, come in!" said he, making it clear he was male with a young adult voice full of energy and gusto. "Don't just stand out there in the cold, come in! It's been a while since we had visitors!"

Tim, Jon, and Rite looked around in amazement at the football field-sized, elegant mansion interior. "Yah, the inside's bigger than the outside," the strange man said with a laugh. "You don't have to deal with the limitations of space down here in the Void." The three newcomers turned to him with slight puzzlement. "Um, the Void?" Tim said.

"Yep, the gap, between universe, reality, and dimension. The one and only Void," the man stated plainly with a slight bow.

"Um, how'd we get here anyway?" Rite asked with his paw raised. "Last time I checked, we was about ta be buried in a hundred feeta wata!"

"345 feet, actually," said the man without a hitch. "Seems like your friend here's got some _serious_ psychic schiznit," he continued, pointing to Jon with a gloved hand. Jon pointed to himself to confirm whether or not the man was actually talking about him, and the man nodded in response. "Yeah you, cue ball. You grabbed your friends and started thinking of any place you could get them to safety. Anywhere, you didn't care. Anyways, I hooked in to the telepathic signals you were emitting, and sent you three here."

Jon looked at his hands in quiet understanding. So _this_ was what he had had all these years... psychic powers. He slapped his hand to his head, frustrated that he had never thought of it before. The Comixian then turned to Tim, who was waving at him with a smile.

Oh yeah. He had been living with him.

"Yeah, don't get cocky, Jon," said the man with a hidden smirk. "In the way of telepathic abilities, mind-reading, teleportation, remote viewing, crap like that, you've got some major potential. Not so much with telekinesis and physical stuff."

"Wait, how did you know his name?" Tim asked in puzzlement.

The man gave a short laugh. "Kid, I know stuff about you guys even you don't know!" With that he jumped a colossal twenty feet into the air, over the three, and showed off a few back flips before he landed behind them. He then turned to the impressed trio. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Narrator," said he as he made a graceful bow. "I am tasked with maintaining the order of past, present, and future, and making sure everything runs along smoothly according to plan."

"Plan? What plan?" Tim said, now even more confused.

"See, God knows everything that'll ever happen. He knows the exact destiny, down to what you'll be eating at breakfast tomorrow, of every single living thing in every single universe in every single dimension. And he gave me this giant book that has the entire fabric of time recorded within. Past, present, future, it's all written in stone. Or, more literally, fluffy white parchment." He allowed all this to sink into Tim, Jon, and Rite's confused minds, then continued.

"The life of every single person, what they have done, are doing, or will do, is recorded in my book by the big man himself. My job is to make sure everything goes off without a hitch. Of course, it's your choice what you're gonna do with your life, so the book constantly takes this into account. But it's supposed to have the final say on which events will occur and when. It's a lot of fun actually, watching all those different realities and universes go on with all their crap, heroes rising up, villains causing trouble, wars being fought, you know the drill. As far as I can tell, the Void itself is also a collection of realities, as there are many beings that exist here in separate sections of it, some ignorant of the others, some slightly aware, but none ever really trying to get to one another. We all basically just leave each other alone and do our thing," the Narrator said with a shrug.

Although it was a lot to take in, Tim, Jon, and Rite were beginning to understand... sort of. "Sounds cool," Tim said with a grin. "Mind if we take a look in the book?"

"Ooo, no can do, I'm afraid. Bad crap happens to people who know their own future. They get all tense and freaked out and they try to change the course of events... to cheat death... and sometimes... they're willing to do some nasty stuff," the Narrator said ominously, shaking his head. "Besides, God gets miffed when people try to predict the future... like they can figure out _his_ plans, which are soooo much higher than mere mortals' minds can comprehend."

"Understandable," Jon said. "But why did you bring us here, anyway?"

"Yeah, about that," the Narrator said, his voice getting a bit worried. "Bad crap's about to go down back on your world... stuff that can effectively alter the fate of all of existence. Reeeeeeeeal bad crap." Tim and Rite's eyes widened, but Jon maintained his calm and uncaring composure.

"See, there's this republic called the Majesty waaaay out in space," the Narrator began. "Bunch of planets and such all run and populated by humans. Life's been good to them so far. They have the most advanced technology in your universe, or several universes for that matter, while everyone else is in the gutter wishing they were them. By everyone else I mean other races, guys that hate humans and would like nothing more than for that peaceful little republic to go bye-bye. So the Majesty's been dealing with some crap from everyone else in the universe, nothing ever big, though." At this point the Narrator's voice grew less chipper. "But see, this one dude, we don't know who he is yet, got in with the high mucky-mucks in the Majesty and tipped them off that your planet is planning an invasion."

"WHAT!" both Tim and Jon exclaimed in shock.

"Yup, so they've dispatched an armada to come subdue you before you cause trouble and waste you all if you do."

"Well, when are they getting here!" Tim said worriedly.

"Actually...," Jon said quietly, his voice in utter despair. Tim suddenly remembered the beam of light that had decimated their home, and broke out in a cold sweat. "No..."

"Oh yeah," the Narrator said sadly. "And there's more of that coming if evil has its say. But don't you worry! You guys are more than able to handle it."

Rite was the first to speak. "But... how?"

"2 things. Numero uno: you guys happen to wield a power stronger than any magic. The power of the elements themselves."

"Uh huh. I'm sure my super strength, Jon's brain, and Rite's guns are _more_ than enough," Tim said sarcastically, in a tone almost matching Jon's.

"No, dipweed, those are just _side effects_. You guys are the living essences of the six base elements--the Uduyuti!"

There was a brief silence, then Tim spoke. "Hang on... we're the you-cool-you-fly?"

Jon and Rite both fell over backwards and crashed onto the floor. "You done being cute?" the Narrator asked bluntly, not willing to put up with any more crap. "Not me!" Rite chirped happily. "It'sa full time job!"

"Okay, so, anyway..." the Narrator continued, "You guys have absolute control over your respective pairs of elements, i.e. you can you any freaking thing you please with them. The only limit is your imagination." He then pointed to Tim. "You're fire and earth, chrome dome over there's water and ice, and cuddles is lightning and wind. Now then, your control over the elements as of yet is pretty much zilch. So you'll have to learn some spells to compensate until you better learn to control your powers."

Tim shook his head. "No go. We flunked out of our magic classes 'cause we couldn't even cast a single spell." The Narrator, gave the three the impression that he was staring at them dumbfoundedly. "WHAT DO YOU _MEAN_, YOU... hmm... well, ah... you ever try casting a simple Fire spell?" Tim then raised his eyes in thought. "Come to think of it, I never tried casting Fire or Terra, the earth spell. I was grilled on the other four." The Narrator then nodded knowingly. "Soooooo... give it a shot."

Tim then motioned everyone to stand back, and concentrated hard. "Iuehaj Yewu! FIRE!"

A raging fireball burst forth from Tim's hands and exploded against the unscathed wall in front of him. Tim's eyes widened with glee. "OH THAT'S _AWESOME_! I CAN USE MAGIC! I REALLY CAN!" Rite applauded, and even Jon gave a rare nod of approval.

Tim then stopped and frowned. "Erm... but wait... Comixians can cast _any_ elemental spell. What can we do if we're only able to cast certain elemental spells only?"

"Were you even paying attention?" The Narrator asked incredulously, his tone becoming a bit Jon-ish. "You'll learn how to move mountains with your pure will! Summon torrents of flame and shape them into any form of destruction you please! But, that's a ways off. Learning spells will keep you alive until you can learn how to get your powers a-goin'. The extent of your abilities is literally limitless. And now for the Number 2 thing I want to point out..." He then snapped his fingers, and a modest, wooden door rose out of the floor. "You'll need some spiffy weapons as well."

After ushering the three through the door, they found themselves in quite a different room.

It was a large smithy, with an elegant, clean feel about it. The entire room seemed to be made of solidified white water, literally pulsing with holy energy as they walked over to the blue-fired furnace. Next to it stood a squat man that resembled a dwarf, but slightly taller, with only a pair of shining cyan lights as eyes behind a clanking heap of armor, cooking utensils, and other such random forged things.

"Welcome!" the dwarf cried with a hearty, deep voice. "You must be the three youngin's of legend!"

"Er, yeah, that'd be us," Tim said awkwardly, trying to be polite.

"The name's Genji. I'm sure you've heard of me. My armor and weapons are famed thought several universes!" Genji said with a laugh as he turned back to his furnace with a pair of steel tongs. "Mind you, my _real_ claim to fame... (and here he pulled out a large shield crafted out of the same fluid white metal they were standing on) is the processing of pure mythril! No one can do it but me!"

The Narrator coughed slightly, as if to point out a flaw in Genji's statement.

"Oh yes, I know of people in other universes," Genji grumbled, "that make 'mythril' crafts of their own. But their process is all wrong. The metal they end up with can still break under excruciating circumstances. But _true_ mythril... under the precision of the greatest smith in existence..." At this point he took a diamond and attempted to scratch the shield with it. After moments of trying, the diamond had crumbled into dust, the shield still unscathed. "...is totally indestructible! Now boys, I'm sure you've seen the wonders of duranite..."

"Duranite?" Tim asked.

"The metal those robots in the ruins were made of," supplied the Narrator.

"Oh."

"..anyway," Genji continued, "Duranite was created by the Majesty. They guard the secret very closely, as, according to them, the metal is unbreakable. But..." He then took out of his shell of knick-knacks a block of duranite and set it on the nearby table. He then handed Tim the shield. Tim , seeing what the dwarf wanted him to do, sliced though the duranite with the shield effortlessly. Needless to say, Jon and Rite were rather impressed. "Whoa," Tim gasped as he dropped the shield.

"As you can see, pure mythril is the only thing that can pierce duranite," Genji concluded. "That said, I'm afraid I have no weapons here."

"Crap," Tim muttered.

"But some of my weapons still exist, hidden away on your planet. Find them and you might stand a chance against the Majesty."

"Well, that's... awfully... convenient," Jon said awkwardly, then shaking his head.

"Oh, and uh, another thing..," the Narrator said as he began waving his hands over the heads of Tim, Jon, and Rite, bathing them in a multi-colored light.

The short ritual complete, the Narrator began explaining. "You won't need sacks or luggage or anything to hold your crap; we'll keep it here for you. Just touch whatever it is you want kept safe, like money or something, and envision it being put in some container. It'll be transported here. To get it back, say the name of it, and it will appear in your hand. Now then, let's move on to equipment. Jon, say 'leather armor'."

Shrugging, Jon repeated the words, and suddenly, a breastplate made of leather appeared on his chest and faded in a split-second. The Narrator then aimed a lightning-fast punch at Jon's chest and stopped short of hitting him. The armor appeared yet again, as if waiting to receive the blow, and disappeared as the Narrator retracted his fist. Tim and Rite both whistled.

"Say the piece of equipment's name, it appears on your body. If you get hit, the equipment automatically appears to take the blow, then vanishes. This is so you can move around flexibly without the armor getting in your way all the time."

"The cooooooooooooooooolness," Tim and Rite both said in awe.

"Well then, I guess you're ready," Genji said with a smile as the Narrator summoned another door, this one leading into what looked like a storage room. "And Rite?" Genji added. Rite turned to acknowledge the old dwarf. "Be sure to bring more Majesty weapons here. I can encase them in mythril and give them more power." Rite nodded happily.

"Good luck, kiddos. May God be with you," the Narrator said solemnly. And as the three dove into the door and what lay beyond, the Narrator and Genji both let out a huge sigh of relief. Now that they had done their part, it was all up to them.

_7:00 A.M. February 24, 20,000 A.D._

The door taking them into the Majesty's makeshift compound had disappeared, leaving the three alone in the darkness of the munitions-filled storage facility. Tim, Jon, and Rite emerged into a large, bright room, wrought entirely of duranite, with rafters dotting the story above and duranite beams securing them below. "So, where to now?" Tim asked his comrades.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Just their luck. Just when things looked good, dozens of Majesty soldiers had been alerted to their presence and now drew their energy rifles at them menacingly. And to top it all off, Colonel Phillip had walked in, escorted by a couple of Majesty privates who looked as if they wanted to get as far away from the Colonel as humanly possible.

"So...," Tim began. "You must be the guy who's trying to wreck our home!"

"Oh, good one," Jon muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe...," Phillip replied with a nod, "And I suppose you little dipshits think you can do something about it!" The three then assumed fighting stances, ready to give the Colonel a taste of their own brand of pain.

"Fine. Have it your way. You got balls, I'll say that much." Phillip then drew a lightsaber from his belt and ignited it with a wicked grin.

Tim dashed forward at the Colonel with a mighty war cry, aiming a flying kick straight at him. The Colonel sidestepped the Comixian's charge and gave him a vicious slice to his chest, although it wasn't enough to cut him in two.

As Jon and Rite ran over to assist the downed Tim, Phillip then began dispersing his life energy, pulsating a menacing red. Energy clones of himself flew out of his body, and aligned themselves in a row, each baring lightsabers of their own. With lightning-fast precision, the clones shot themselves at the two heroes, exploding as they hit their bodies. Jon and Rite fell instantly, groaning in intense pain.

As Phillip turned to the fallen Tim, struggling in a pool of his own cobalt blood, he pinned the Comixian down with his foot. "Well little boy, guess you sure showed me! Ha! You couldn't even beat my _shit_ if your life depended on it!"

"COLONEL!"

General Scott ran over to the Colonel in a blind rage. "I warned you! Secure ONLY! Look at him!" He gestured to the half-dead Tim, looking up at him with slight hope. "So help me, Phillip, I will make it my primary duty to get you discharged with _full_ screwing!"

The equally enraged Phillip looked down on his helpless victim, then muttered the words that would seal the fallen boy's fate.

"...Fuck you."

He then raised his saber to behead Tim, and came down hard.

Against General Scott's lightsaber. Scott pulled up, flinging back the surprised Colonel several feet. Wasting no time, Scott decided to answer the Colonel's hate and cruelty with the ultimate technique.

The sacred technique taught to him by his father.

Scott began glowing a glaring white, illuminating the entire room, and charged at Phillip with inhuman speed, bringing his blade crashing down onto him. The room was instantly filled with soundless light, blinding everyone in range. The light began focusing itself into a sphere, then slowly shrank into the ravaged body of Colonel Phillip. The illumination receding, Phillip fell to the earth with a loud thud, unconscious and broken beyond recognition.

Extinguishing his blade, Scott regained his composure and motioned to one of the stunned corporals. "Take him to the medics. He should survive to see another day, unfortunately." "What about them?" one of the corporals asked, pointing towards the bloodied Tim and his two friends.

Scott cast a glance of pity upon the fallen heroes, and nodded. "Them as well. Then take them to interrogation."

CHAPTER END


End file.
